Page 61 of Elizabeth Bennet and the Scottish Laird

“They struck him down. I watched it happen. They beat him senseless and he passed from his injuries days later.” Hamish drew a shuddering breath. “His wife Fiona was already ill. She did not survive the winter. Most of the family perished in those months, scattered and starving on the roads. And I... I survived. I survived when better men than I did not.”

“So, you assumed his identity.” Elizabeth's voice came out flat.

“I assumed his name because I could not bear my own any longer. Because Hamish McLeod was a coward who hid whilst his friend was murdered, and Malcolm MacKinnon was a hero who deserved to live.” He raised his head at last, and Elizabeth saw the tracks of tears upon his cheeks. “I thought if I became him, if I used his name and his inheritance to help the others, the families who lost everything, perhaps it would mean something. Perhaps his death would not have been entirely in vain.”

“And Moira?” Jane asked. “She is not Malcolm's daughter?”

“Fiona was already with child when Malcolm died. The babe came early, in that terrible winter, and Fiona did not survive the birth. Neither Malcolm nor Fiona had any living relatives or even friends. My wife and I took the child and raised her as our own. She knows nothing of any of this. She believes herself the daughter of Malcolm MacKinnon, Laird of Strathaird.”

“Mrs Fraser?” Jane pressed.

Hamish hung his head. “She is my real great-aunt and the only surviving member of my family. Mrs Fraser and my late wife were the only ones privy to my real identity. Mrs Douglas recently found out about my identity after overhearing a conversation between my great-aunt and me. She vehemently disapproves, of course, and she has been trying to convince Mrs Fraser to put a stop to the wedding preparations.”

An invisible hand squeezed Elizabeth’s heart as she thought of the little girl. Whatever Hamish had done, whatever deceptions he had practised, he had loved that child and cared for her as tenderly as any true father.

“I know you cannot forgive me.” Hamish turned to Elizabeth, and the raw anguish in his face made her look away. “I know I have forfeited any right to your regard. But I want you to understand that what I felt for you was never part of the deception. I came to Longbourn seeking security for Moira, yes. I will not pretend otherwise. But I came to care for you, Elizabeth. Genuinely and deeply. Your wit, your strength, your tenacity in the face of circumstances that would have broken lesser spirits. I admired you from the first, and that admiration grew into something I had not expected and did not deserve.”

His voice broke on the final words, and he pressed his hand to his eyes once more.

Bingley cleared his throat. “Miss Elizabeth, shall I write to the magistrate? We have excellent grounds to press charges for fraud and criminal impersonation. The penalties are severe, but given the scope of the deception...”

Before Elizabeth could reply, movement at the door caught her attention. Through the gap where the door stood slightly ajar, she glimpsed Moira's face, pale and tear-streaked, her small hand pressed against her mouth to muffle the sobs that shook her thin shoulders. The child's eyes met Elizabeth's for a single agonising moment before she turned and fled, her footsteps pattering away down the corridor.

Elizabeth made her decision.

“No.”

Bingley stared at her. “No?”

“I do not wish to report Mr McLeod to the magistrate. There will be no charges pressed.”

Mrs Bennet, who had been uncharacteristically silent throughout the confession, found her voice at last. “Lizzy! After everything he has done, all the lies he has told, you mean to let him simply walk away? Think of our reputation! Think of what the neighbourhood will say when they learn...”

“I am thinking of Moira.” Elizabeth cut across her mother's protestations. “She is an innocent child who has already lost her mother. I will not be responsible for taking her father from her as well, whatever name he goes by.”

“But Lizzy...”

“My decision is made, Mama.” Elizabeth turned to Hamish, who sat staring at her with an expression of disbelieving gratitude. “You will leave Longbourn tomorrow. That should give you sufficient time to gather your belongings and make arrangements for your journey. I trust you will not abuse this mercy by lingering longer than necessary.”

“I... thank you.” The words seemed wholly inadequate to the occasion, and Hamish appeared to know it. “I do not deserve your compassion, Miss Elizabeth.”

“No, you do not.” Elizabeth kept her voice steady through sheer force of will. “But Mr MacKinnon, the real Mr MacKinnon, showed compassion to a defenceless old woman even knowing it would cost him his life. I should like to think he would not want his name associated with the destruction of his innocent child's happiness, whatever crimes have been committed in it.”

Hamish rose from his chair, his movements slow and heavy. He paused at the door, turning back to face them one final time.

“Mrs Bennet. Miss Bennet. Miss Elizabeth.” He addressed each of them in turn, his voice rough with emotion. “I am sorry. Those words are hopelessly insufficient, I know. I deceived you all in the worst possible way, allowed you to believe in a future that could never exist, and I have no defence to offer except that I was a desperate man trying to build something good from the wreckage of terrible choices. I wished only to provide for my daughter and to make amends for my cowardice, and I convinced myself that the good I did could somehow outweigh the lies I told. I was wrong. I see that now.”

The silence stretched.

“Miss Elizabeth, you deserved far better than what I offered you. You deserved honesty and honour and a man worthy of your remarkable spirit. I hope someday you find such a man. I hope you find the happiness I could never have given you. And I hope that in time, you might remember me not only as the man who deceived you, but as one who recognised too late what a precious gift your regard truly was.”

He bowed once, deeply, and left the room without another word. His footsteps retreated down the corridor, and then up the stairs, growing fainter until they faded entirely into silence.

No one spoke for a long moment. The fire crackled in the grate, and the mantel clock ticked steadily, marking seconds that seemed to stretch into hours.

“Well.” Mrs Bennet's voice emerged small and bewildered, stripped of its usual nervous energy. “I suppose I must write to the Lucases and the Longs and tell them the wedding is cancelled. What am I to say? How does one explain such a thing?”

“We shall face it together, Mama.” Jane moved to sit beside her mother and took her hand. “We shall compose the letters as a family, and we shall weather whatever talk ensues. We have survived worse.”